Mary Bennet
by JackieBwrites
Summary: Mary Bennet has decided to go Ireland after being forsaken by the duplicitous Mr. Wilson. She is determined to escape the sadness of her predicament and build a new life, but will she remain alone, or will she dare to trust again and open her heart to love? This story is a sequel to Catherine Bennet.


Catherine Bennet is fully edited and in New York being read by an agent. Yahoo! Time to get on with Mary Bennet...

**One**

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman who has been forsaken by her lover must venture abroad to avoid the disgrace associated with her predicament. Such was the case with Mary Bennet, who only four months ago had been engaged to Thomas Wilson, the vicar at Adelaide Church in Newcastle. Originally thought to be a gentleman of character by the Bennet family, he changed into a man of no integrity when he tossed Mary aside in his pursuit of Maria Lucas, then married her without giving his former fiancé a backwards glance. Although it was circulated that Mary terminated their obligation, Mr. Wilson's speedy marriage to Maria hinted at her reason for doing so, and left her open to public scrutiny. She was already tired of the sympathetic glances tossed her way when she ventured to Meryton, which were tolerable when compared to her parents' unnatural conversation as soon as she returned home. At Longbourn she had no choice but to acknowledge her mother's red eyes and her father's weary countenance, indicating they had once again been discussing her situation – something that ended as soon as she entered the house, compelling her mother to whisper: "Mr. Bennet, what are we to do about her?"

Mr. Bennet had no answer to this question, and so he only smiled cheerfully at Mary on every occasion. He did what he could to lessen her grief, and his attempts to soothe her broken heart ranged from him pouring her cups of tea to applauding her infrequent efforts to play the piano. But he was uncomfortable most of the time, and he was always relieved to excuse himself to his library. He had never been good at consoling his daughters, and their evenings usually ended with Mrs. Bennet retiring early accompanied by a hail of tears, while father and daughter sat near the fire, bounded by an uneasy silence. Mary was ready to leave Longbourn and go anywhere else, no matter what the circumstances involved.

Unfortunately, she didn't know what to do. There was little opportunity or money for her to travel, even though Jane and Elizabeth extended her invitations to visit them in Derbyshire. "There is more than enough room at Brightmore and I want you to stay with us," Jane urged on the day she departed Longbourn with Mr. Bingley and their daughter, Constance. Kitty was already married to Colonel Fitzwilliam and they were in Bath enjoying their first few weeks of married life, and it was time for Jane and Elizabeth to go home with their families.

"Or even Pemberley," Elizabeth added. "Don't think you must stay here with Mamma and Pappa, for you'll go mad in no time. Come with us and wait out the winter in Derbyshire. Some time away will help you regain your confidence and realize that all is not lost. Mr. Wilson treated you very ill, and you must recover from his infidelity. This will be easier to do in Derbyshire than here, where you will be reminded daily of his betrayal by our mother."

"I'm quite over it," Mary announced. She adjusted her spectacles and sniffed with an air of dignity that bordered on resentment. "Mr. Wilson did nothing to me that I did not do to him first. It was I who ended our engagement, simply because he no longer suited me. Truthfully, it will be more peaceful here than in a house overrun by weeping children, and I must decline your kind offers and wish you well on your journey home."

Jane and Elizabeth were not offended by Mary's tart refusal, and they eyed each other with grim resignation. Elizabeth returned to the sitting room to rescue her children from her mother's embrace, and Jane rested a caring hand on Mary's arm. "You will always be welcome," she noted. She wanted to say more, but she bit her tongue and joined Elizabeth in the other room.

Mary followed suit and shook her head. The sitting room was filled with family members and servants alike – none of them having any idea as how to pacify the babies or Mrs. Bennet. Mamma was upset over her daughters' departure and her tears were causing the babies to howl when they should be calm, considering it was early morning and they had just been fed. She was prolonging the episode for a tedious amount of time, and it wasn't long before Mr. Darcy said: "Elizabeth, I would like us to leave NOW!"

Mr. Bingley was in agreement and he had one foot out the door when Mrs. Bennet's doleful crying stopped his retreat. "Oh, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, I will be lonely without my grandchildren and I don't know when we shall meet again! You know how Mr. Bennet is about leaving Longbourn, and unless you are to visit us it will be a long time before we see each other. I daresay the babies will be walking by then and I will have missed everything!"

"Mamma, Pappa won't object to you visiting us at Pemberley or Brightmore, with or without him. Isn't that right, Father?" Elizabeth asked her question in a commanding tone, and Mr. Bennet did not dare oppose her. Rather, he nodded his head and the tension in the room diminished. Mrs. Bennet wiped her eyes, but her discontent remained, and she was inclined to use her smelling salts before Jane and Elizabeth could leave with their families. She, Mr. Bennet, and Mary were left alone then, and they contemplated the scattering dust behind the carriages in silence.

"Well, that's that," Mr. Bennet remarked before going to his library and shutting the door.

"Oh, Mr. Bennet!" his wife bawled. Mrs. Hill helped her to her room and she spent the rest of the day mourning the loss of almost all her children, while Mary sat alone in the parlor and contemplated her empty life.

Mary remained in this troubled state for many days afterwards, but she was glad not to be in Derbyshire with Jane and Elizabeth. She didn't want any company, especially that of happily married women. Common decency wouldn't allow her to admit that she was jealous of their circumstances; even so, she was easier when she did not have to gaze upon the contented lovers' faces and the serene dispositions of their offspring. Neither did she want to be put in a position to care for her nieces and nephew while their parents resumed their social obligations and transformed her into the doting, "spinster aunt". It was bad enough that she was expected to tend to her parents in their elder years; to prove her usefulness by caring for her sisters' children would only confirm her fate. Despite everything, this Bennet daughter was unwilling to forsake her future to the "common good" just yet.

It wasn't that Mary expected to receive another proposal of marriage. She was determined to give up on romantic love and renounce her faith in ever receiving it. Mr. Wilson's behavior taught her about love's fickleness and about her own shortcomings when it came to attaining it. The art of capturing a gentleman's heart was a game she didn't like, and she was not going to play it when she didn't possess the tools to master the sport. Certainly, she possessed a good dowry that would appeal to any man bent on enjoying a comfortable life, but if that life was to be endured without affection, Mary could not settle for it. After watching Jane, Elizabeth, and Kitty marry for love, she would not be content with anything less, even though her mother remarked that her lack of beauty should make her thankful for any man's attention.

"There are plenty of single men in Meryton who would be grateful to have you as a wife," Mrs. Bennet resolved one night at dinner.

"Who do you mean, Mamma?" Mary asked dully.

"Why, there's Mr. Marshall, the blacksmith, whose wife Nellie passed away only a few months ago, leaving him with two young children. I hear he's having a difficult time and I'm sure he's desperate for a woman by now. And we mustn't forget about Mr. Simpkins, the pig farmer, who has a good bit of land only a few miles away and the sweetest cottage I have ever seen. I know his rough edges need to be polished, but he is a pleasant fellow and I daresay he would be happy to marry you. …And think of all the free bacon we would get, Mr. Bennet! My mouth is watering at the thought of it." Mrs. Bennet eyed Mary expectantly.

"Mother! This is the best you can suggest for me – a widow and a pig-farmer?" Mary expressed with outrage. "I can't believe you're so desperate to see me wed that you would be pass me off to a man still so much in grief over his wife's passing that I have yet to ask him how he is without him bursting into tears! As for Mr. Simpkins, he is fifty-years old and the smell of pig follows him wherever he goes. What right does either man have to make a claim on me? I am the daughter of a gentleman, and even though I'm not the prettiest Bennet sister, I have a good dowry, a balanced character, and the ability to tolerate the irrational ramblings of anyone given that I have lived with five frivolous women for nearly all my life!"

"Well said, Mary!" Mr. Bennet resounded. He had come to esteem his middle daughter since she had ended her engagement with Mr. Wilson - someone he did not like in that he reminded him too much of his cousin, Mr. Collins. Others would say her spirit had hardened since the event, and that her soft edges were calloused and hoary, but Mr. Bennet noticed the emergence of an indomitable lady who wouldn't suffer fools gladly. Mary was more than capable of surviving the lonely life she would lead as a spinster, and since she would not have a man to take care of her, it was imperative she was able to look after herself.

Mrs. Bennet would not abandon her case. "Mary Bennet, how can you say such a thing when you know I am only trying to help you find a husband? A woman's happiness in life is dependent on her making a suitable marriage, which is something I have impressed upon you since you were a girl. And if you won't believe me, you must refer to your beloved James Fordyce. Was it not him who said that God has placed women under the protection of men? How are you to live without a husband, child? What is to become of you? You will have a sorry life after your parents are dead and you are forced to depend upon the charity of your sisters. Mr. Marshall and Mr. Simpkins are not the best of men, but they are decent enough for you."

"Here now, woman, I've heard just about enough of this!" Mr. Bennet roared.

Mary glared at her mother. "Decent enough for me? I suppose that since I'm not as pretty as Jane, Elizabeth, Kitty, or even Lydia, I should be willing to settle for anyone. …I say, why don't we go out to the road and wave down the next beggar and ask him if he is willing to marry me, because I daresay one man is just as good as another, so long as he is willing to condescend to my level."

"What rubbish is this?" Mrs. Bennet complained, but her words were lost on Mary, who stormed out of the room and sought refuge in the garden. She went there often to escape her mother's nonsense, and despite the cold weather she found peace amongst the wind-ravaged trees. The bleakness of winter mirrored her inner despondency, and it commiserated with her as she coped with the loss of Mr. Wilson's regard. It was here that she released her sorrow and allowed her crying to be muffled by an understanding breeze; otherwise, she kept her grief hidden and didn't speak a word of Mr. Wilson's treachery to anyone.

Mr. Wilson's rejection of Mary happened more in deed than words, and his mounting disinterest told her that he no longer loved her. All was well the previous summer when the happy couple arrived at Longbourn to prepare for their wedding, and the vicar was the most adoring companion. Things were progressing splendidly until the couple's first visit to Lucas Lodge, when Mr. Wilson was introduced to the charming Maria Lucas, who batted her eyelashes and smiled coyly, until the vicar lost all sight of his plain Mary. He was unusually animated as he discussed every aspect of religious devotion with his pretty hostess, who nodded without understanding a single word of his discourse. But even with the lack of intelligent conversation, Mr. Wilson's eyes lingered on Maria's blonde curls and fair skin for an indecent amount of time, while Mary sat politely in the background, all but forgotten.

From that point on, Mary noticed subtle changes in Mr. Wilson's conduct. She didn't want to recognize the signs, at first, but they became hard to ignore when he started to venture to Lucas Lodge alone, under the feeblest of excuses. "I'm going shooting with Sir Lucas today," he would say, which was unusual when he hated the sport and wasn't any good at it.

"I will go with you and visit Maria and Mrs. Lucas," Mary would offer naively.

Autumn was approaching, and Mr. Wilson had many convenient excuses to keep her at Longbourn. "Oh no, my dear, you must stay here and keep warm! It's cold outside and I'm worried you'll catch your death! I insist you remain with your parents, and when I return we shall discuss our wedding in greater detail. Indeed I can't wait until we're married!"

As time progressed, the couple talked about their wedding less and less, until it was mentioned no more. Mr. Wilson was guilty of spending too much time at Lucas Lodge, which irritated Mrs. Bennet to no end. "Mary, this is unacceptable and I demand that you bring Mr. Wilson home now. I tell you I'm not at all comfortable with his behavior and I have no idea what he's doing there!"

"One can only guess," Mr. Bennet muttered from behind his newspaper, but that is all he said, lest his wife put him in the awkward position of fetching their errant guest.

"What am I supposed to do, hitch him to the back of the carriage and drag him here?" Mary posed sarcastically.

"If you must," Mamma answered before giving her daughter another lecture on the art of alluring a man, so that Mr. Wilson would no longer be tempted to venture elsewhere when he could find every attraction at Longbourn.

Thankfully, Mrs. Bennet's single-mindedness came to a halt when Elizabeth arrived home on that chilly October evening several months ago, to her mother's astonishment and her father's dismay. She was alone and dangerously pregnant, and her red, mournful eyes gave evidence to her upset. She would not discuss what had transpired at Pemberley to make her risk her well-being to undergo such a perilous journey, and her parents whispered their assumptions behind her back, so as not to aggravate her further.

To add to the mystery, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner reached Longbourn the next day, and Mamma's attention was so distracted that she couldn't focus on anything for more than the briefest amounts of time. The passing mention of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's argument cast a dark pall over the house, and shadows moved silently between the rooms. Mary was forced to solve her own predicament, without any assistance whatsoever.

When Mrs. Bennet left Longbourn to tend to Kitty at Pemberley, who was suffering from a nasty cold, Mary decided she had endured enough heartache. She would have liked to discuss Mr. Wilson's betrayal with Elizabeth or her Aunt Gardiner, but Lizzie was in too much discomfort and confined to her bed, and their aunt never left her side. Mr. Bennet was content to sit in his library and read, while Mr. Gardiner took long walks and snoozed by the fire. Mary was alone and she was tired of it. Her alleged fiancé was making no effort to be with her, and she knew that if she did not take matters into her own hands, she was soon to be the joke of the neighborhood. Mrs. Bennet's absence would guarantee that she would not demand her share of the conversation, and so it was the best time for Mary to approach Mr. Wilson and ask him if he still wanted to marry her.

Her options were limited. Mary was neither charming nor coy, and her prudence wouldn't allow her to behave contrary to her natural inclinations. Even so, she was wearing her prettiest muslin dress as she sat in Longbourn's front hall that fateful night, before a low fire, waiting for Mr. Wilson to return from Lucas Lodge. Bess had styled her hair, which was unusual when the maid was only called upon to do so before an assembly or Ball, and never by Mary, who preferred to dress herself. The smallest twig of lavender was stuck in her corset, and its scent tickled her nose in the most annoying way. She checked her nails repeatedly to make sure they were clean, and pinched her cheeks and bit her lips until they bled. She had seen her sisters perform these rituals often enough to know that they belonged in the courtship dance, although she was unaware of their benefits, since she had never bothered to inquire about them.

Unfortunately, Mary fell asleep in her chair, so that her attempts to improve her appearance were for naught. When Mr. Wilson finally arrived, her dress was creased, her skin pallid, and thin wisps of hair had fallen out of her stylish coiffure. To make matters worse, she was snoring when she felt a hand on her shoulder, rocking her awake.

"I'm surprised to see you still awake," Mr. Wilson declared without guilt. "Tell me, what is the reason for it?"

Mary's spectacles had slid to the end of her nose and she replaced them hurriedly. She flapped her eyelashes and was ready to offer Mr. Wilson her brightest smile until she noticed the glint in his eye, proving his intoxication and suggesting he had enjoyed his evening without her. He looked at the stairwell to show that he was more anxious to go to bed than hear her answer, and Mary's smile never appeared.

"I should like to discuss our wedding plans," she replied shortly.

Mr. Wilson's yawn was contrived. "As would I, but I'm too tired to go into it. Sir Lucas was determined to show me his collection of valuable old English silver coins this afternoon, and it took hours considering he has so many of them. And then I was obliged to accept his invitation to dinner, for Lady Lucas had cook prepare the nicest grouse for our meal, which Sir Lucas shot only this morning. After that, she asked me to play a game of whist, and upon finishing two rounds I had one final glass of port then begged the family to let me to return to Longbourn."

"Sir Lucas seems to have many collections that you have been intent upon viewing lately," Mary snorted, remembering that Mr. Wilson's excuse to travel to Lucas Lodge the previous day was to view Sir Lucas' fine array of gold snuff boxes handcrafted by George Michael Moser.

"Absolutely!" Mr. Wilson rejoined with too much enthusiasm. "He is in possession of some interesting artifacts and he is eager to show them to any newcomer. Sir Lucas is a gracious host, and naturally I don't want to offend him by refusing to inspect his treasures when his family is so friendly with your own."

"Of course," Mary said through pursed lips.

Mr. Wilson did not acknowledge her ire. "I will admit I have grown fond of the Lucas family. Miss. Maria is the sweetest creature and she has a delightful wit. Indeed I am completely charmed by her. Why, when I mentioned I was leaving Lucas Lodge she said: 'Mr. Wilson, wouldn't it be best if you spent the night here? Surely Mr. and Mrs. Bennet won't mind, and Mary will understand the reason for it. Otherwise, you could tell them you arrived at Longbourn very late then left early in the morning, given you have made arrangements to go shooting with my father.' ...She was insistent that you would be none the wiser, and although it was an excellent plan, I was reluctant to deceive you and thought it best to spend the night at Longbourn."

"How good of you," Mary offered flatly, even as she winced at hearing her fiancé praise Maria Lucas.

"Thank you. But if you wouldn't mind, I'm exhausted and the sun will rise soon enough. Can we talk about this tomorrow evening? I shall be home by dinner, unless Lady Lucas would like to engage me in another game of whist and recover her shilling!" Mr. Wilson was hopeful as he leaned into Mary and revealed crooked, yellow teeth.

Mary was not so obliging. "I confess I would mind, since I should like to discuss our plans tonight. I want to set a date for the wedding. We are getting close to Christmas and if we don't make our arrangements now, Reverend Stevens will be too busy to perform the service and we will be forced to wait until next year."

"A January wedding - how lovely that would be!" Mr. Wilson mentioned eagerly. "And with the holidays behind us, our party will be welcomed by those suffering from post-Christmas melancholy."

"So you should like to wait until January to be married?" Mary squeaked as she resisted the urge to cry.

Mr. Wilson stroked his chin. "Hmm, you sound reluctant at the idea, which is understandable. The weather will be poor and your sisters won't journey to Hertfordshire on bad roads. Perhaps we should postpone the ceremony until spring, when the days are better and everyone will be able to attend. Although I should return to Newcastle if that's the case, since my parishioners won't be able to survive without me until then."

Mary's eyes widened with panic. "Mr. Wilson, I don't think…."

"Then again, spring can be very wet, and I wouldn't like our wedding to be ruined by a storm, especially since your mother wants to hold the reception outdoors," the vicar interrupted. "Maybe we should wait until summer, when we are guaranteed sunny days and warmer temperatures. What is your opinion?"

Mary was aghast. "Sir, I am alarmed by the suggestion of postponing our wedding until then, and it seems like you don't want to marry me at all!"

Mr. Wilson pretended to be indignant. "I don't know how you could draw such a conclusion when you know that I'm only trying to give you the best possible date? Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Why yes," Mary sputtered.

"To suggest that I no longer want to marry you is insulting to a man like me, who is known for his veracity and who is head of the most illustrious parsonage in Newcastle," Mr. Wilson put in, his anger mounting.

"I didn't mean to…," Mary tried to say.

"Yes you did, and I'm shocked by your impertinence. What can I say, other than I think it's your goal to spark an argument between us on account that you no longer want to marry me!"

"Mr. Wilson, I can assure you this is not my purpose!" Mary voiced, but as she watched his impatient countenance, she realized that the termination of their engagement was forefront in his own mind. Her heart sank as Mr. Wilson glanced through the walls of the house in the direction of Lucas Lodge. Indeed he had no desire to set a wedding date with her, now or ever. His only goal was to return to Maria Lucas as soon as possible.

Mary focused on the fire. "Then again, if you think it best to postpone our wedding…."

"Only if _you_ think it best, my dear, since I'm happy to leave the decision to you." Mr. Wilson's voice was elevated suddenly, and his excitement was palpable. His body inclined towards to door in anticipation of quitting Longbourn, and Mary, before dawn. "Although if you would like to delay it, then I imagine you're rethinking our marriage entirely," he mentioned leadingly.

Silence filled the hall, broken only by the sound of splitting coals. Mary was certain Mr. Wilson was holding his breath in anticipation of her answer. He may have been engaged to her, but his heart was at Lucas Lodge. There was no need to prolong this foolishness any longer. "Maybe I am. In my opinion neither of us are speaking our minds, so let me be the first to do it. I release you from your obligation, Sir. It seems we are content to go our separate ways, and I wish you all the best for your future health and happiness."

Mr. Wilson exhaled with relief. "Likewise, Miss. Bennet. It's been my pleasure to know you, and I believe our friendship will continue for many years to come. If you will excuse me, though, I think I should accept the Lucas' kind offer and stay with them. I will leave it to you to speak to your family tomorrow morning, considering you have been the one to end our engagement."

"That would be best," Mary agreed while smirking.

There was nothing more to say. Mr. Wilson went to his room and gathered his belongings, then departed Longbourn with an urgency that proved his eagerness to be with Maria Lucas. Mary was reluctant to withdraw her gaze from the fire, lest she be tempted to beg him to change his mind. There was no point in it when his affection lay elsewhere.

Instead, she asked herself how she could be foolish enough to think she was worthy of love when she was nothing like Maria Lucas. Mary was inflicted with a boring personality, a bookish countenance, and ordinary looks, which would not endear her to any man. She was destined for spinsterhood, and she shut Mr. Wilson out of her heart in the same way that she abandoned her faith, while wondering what terrible thing it was she had done to deserve such back luck.


End file.
